Of Pancakes and Ringtones
by PersephoneQ
Summary: Fluffish. Have you ever wondered where Mattie learned how to make pancakes? Gilbert has. And it didn't end well. New and improved !
1. Chapter 1

Matthew was rather surprised to wake up to the tones of "King of the World" instead of the regular, rather noisy ring of his alarm. _Its too early…_Matthew couldn't help but thinking, as he realized that it must have been early if his phone was buzzing before his alarm clock. But, just in case, he checked the digital clock and was surprised it read 8:40. It should have rang at about 6:50. He started to wonder if he had set it at all [though he tried to be very punctual about his morning schedule, he had had loads of work to do last night and it was a possibility]. But then remembered the phone on his bedside table, loudly proclaiming that it was _the f-ing king of the world. _He grabbed it and answered just before the call ended.

Though Matthew was a light sleeper, he couldn't help but wonder just how many times he had called him. Matthew knew that the person who owned that ring tone was not a very patient man. If he had slept through more than two of his phone calls, he wouldn't be calling again and he could expect a reasonably angry Prussian at his door step in a matter of minutes. And if this was only his first or second attempt at calling the extremely tired Canadian, he might call again…maybe.

He looked at his phone, biting his lip and debating over whether or not he should take his chances and call first, and then decided to check and see if he left any voice mail while he waited for the Prussian to call.

He left two, one for each time he called.

The first:

"_I don't know if you're having a temper tantrum, though I don't know what I would have done" _at that point, Matthew laughed_. Can he ever stay on topic? ", or if America hid your phone again or __**what**__...but I'll call again in a few minutes. Answer!' _

The second was dated at fifteen minutes later. Matthew was impressed that he could wait that long.

"_Hey, Canadian boy, __**WAKE UP!**__ Get your butt out of bed or turn your cell phone off vibrate or get over your prissy girl mood swings and answer the darn phone! Urgg!"_

He kept the first one for no particular reason, but after hearing the second one, he deleted both and was tempted to erase his number off his phone. But he knew that Prussia wasn't exactly a morning person and absolutely dreaded to wait, and was secretly touched that he sucked it up and did these things for him anyways. After a while, when Prussia hadn't called yet, Matthew decided to call first on second thought.

It was a double call and his phone automatically hung up on him.

He tried again and succeeded.

Prussia answered immediately with an annoyed, "Hey, you took forever and a day to answer your phone! What's up, did Kumajirou eat it?"

"No, I had a lot of work last night and I forgot to set my alarm clock so I only woke up at your second call."

"..Oh...Oh, hey, did you change my ring tone?"

"No, its still 'King of the World'. Why?"

"You should change it; I found a good one for me...and you too."

He sighed. "Okay, show me later. By the way, how come you never tell me what mine is?"

There was a pause in which Matthew could practically feel Prussia blushing on the other end of the line, which made _him_ blush slightly. "Gil-"

"Tch, it changes once every week, so I rarely have enough time to show you."

He decided to not mention that Gilbert could probably just tell him the name and artist and he could look it up. A thought occurred to him.

"Oh, by the way...I was just wondering, who exactly was that 'Canadian boy' with the 'prissy girl mood swings', hmm?"

"...Uh...Uhm...hmm, well...I'm not a morning person okay!"

"Obviously. Now, did you want something?"

"Yes, can I come over, or do you want me to pick you up and take you to

Luddy's, 'cause I am _reaalllyy_ hungry and West's cooking sucks."

Matthew thought he heard an angry and offended German yelling in the background and Italy try to comfort him.

"It sounds like a full house up there, why don't you come down here, eh...H-hey, I'm not on speaker a-am I?"

There was a pause in the both the back ground noise and Prussia's angry yells at his brother and then there was a nervous, "...No…"

"H-hey! T-t-take me o-off speaker!"

Prussia laughed and he heard a few others join him.

"Haha, I love hearing you stutter, all flustered and bashful like that, ha!"

"W-well you won't be hearing a-anyth-thing if you don't take me off s-speaker! I m-mean it G-Gilbert!"

He stopped laughing [with some noticed effort] and said, "Okie-dokie, princess, I'll be there in ten minutes, think you could save me a plate of pancakes?"

"S-sure...And what do you mean by-"

He was cut of by another bought of laughter and Gilbert managed a happy "Bye, bye Mattie~" before he hang up on him.

Matthew fell back on his bed and groaned loudly. Sometimes Gilbert could be a very stressful person to deal with. But the thought of making pancakes again elated him.

He quickly showered and changed into jeans and a white button down, rolling up the sleeves to his elbows by habit. He tried to brush his hair down as best as possible, not even bothering with that odd little curl that always hung in his face. He brushed his teeth and headed down stairs and was surprised to see Alfred already awake and halfway up the stairs to his bedroom. Not being able to stop in time, their foreheads collided painfully.

"Oww…"

Alfred didn't even look bothered, just...worried?

"Hey, are you okay? You didn't get up early today. Are you feeling alright?"

"Y-yeah…I'm f-fine, just had a lot of-"

Alfred didn't even let him finish his sentence. "He knew what he needed to know and the rest was just a waste of time", as he put it.

"Well, I was wondering if, for breakfast, you would make hamburgers and bacon and eggs and bacon and-"

"W-well, I was thinking of making pancakes for breakfast since-"

Alfred, since both of the boys had fallen down after the head butt, leaned over the shy Canadian and whimpered.

"Aww, but I wanna have bacon!"

"Well, then I'll make bacon too, just-"

"Yayy~! Can you also make hamburgers and-"

Suddenly the doorbell rang and a series of knocks followed when it was not opened immediately.

"Oh crap! Gilbert!"

Canada got up and dodged around the surprised American and ran to the door breathlessly.

"Hey Gi-"

Surprisingly, it wasn't Prussia. It was England.

* * *

><p>"Iggy~!"<p>

The towering American lunged for the smaller man and engulfed Arthur in an unknowingly strong bear hug.

"A-Alfred! P-put me down, you git!"

The smaller man was red-faced but he couldn't tell if this was from embarrassment or loss of breathe…or pain.

Alfred let go with a laugh.

"So what brings you here?"

"You _invited_ me! Yesterday!"

"I did? Well, you're welcome to stay. Mattie here was just about to make breakfast so make yourself at home~! Oh, hey, I found this really cool song, c'mon~!"

The poor Englishman was dragged by hand upstairs with a surprised expression. Canada laughed at the sight and plugged in the skillet. Getting out the ingredients, he wondered what kind of pancakes he should cook. Matthew knew that Gilbert wouldn't care what kind of pancakes he cooked, but Matt also knew that the man's favorite pancakes were cinnamon, and he absolutely adored maple syrup. This was actually one of the ways they had become friends.

Matthew smiled at the memory and began mixing the ingredients, putting in more cinnamon than usual. He started pouring the ingredients into a bowl and mixing it. Just when the batter was finished, the doorbell rang again. Mattie, wondering if it was really Gilbert this time, and not one of his American twin brother's friends come over for a round of Rock Band and free food-when he opened the door. Thankfully, it was Prussia, in all of his 'awesome' glory. He had on a black long-sleeve and a white, buttoned down short-sleeve over it. Around his neck hung a hastily thrown on red scarf. His white hair stuck up everywhere (as usual, he was probably too hungry to even attempt to control that rats-nest of hair) and one of his yellow chicks (Gilbird, he presumed) was taking a nap on top of it.

Matthew smiled at the slightly taller man. Gilbert smiled back and then looked him up and down, making him blush.

"Nice shirt, you should wear clothes that like that more."

Matthew tilted his head, slightly confused. "Eh? Like what?"

"You should wear clothes that fit you more. You're always wearing that hoodie, even though it's big enough to hold a small Asian family and twenty times too big on you."

Matthew blushed, ducking his head and moving slightly to the right, allowing his friend inside. "I'll consider it."

* * *

><p>As Matthew poured the batter onto the skillet, Gilbert sat impatiently at the counter, watching him and tapping the table. Finally, his patients wore thin. The albino sneaked up behind the humming Canadian and wrapped his arms around Matthew's waist, putting his head on his shoulder.<p>

"Whatcha singing, Birdie~?"

The cute Canadian jumped and blushed, pushing Gilbert's arms off his waist.

"N-nothing, Gil. J-just go sit down and wait for the pancakes to finish cooking. Please?"

Matthew looked up at Gilbert with his infamous puppy dog eyes, making Gilbert blush and immediately do as the other said.

Darn it.

Really, how could he let that one kid control him so easily?

Deciding that he wasn't going to take the order without a fight, he grabbed what was left of the batter and sat down in front of Canada at the bar, sticking his fingers in the wet, delicious substance and sticking it in his mouth.

"H-hey, g-give that back! I-I need that to make enough pancakes!"

"Oh? And for who? If I'm eating this and the pancakes you've already made, how am I not eating the same amount as if I just ate all the regular pancakes?"

"P-pig, it's not only supposed to feed you! I have to make enough for you, me, Al, and Arthur."

Gilbert perked up at that.

"Art's here? Ha, why didn't ya say so? What, are they making out or something?"

The energetic albino rushed up the stairs to see if his guess was correct.

Before Matthew could run to fetch him, Gilbert turned around halfway up and put a finger to his lips and 'shh'ed him.

Matthew, completely forgetting the cooking pancakes to his right, stared up the stairs, waiting for Gilbert to come down.

Suddenly, loud banging was heard, followed by screams and curses, then thunderous roars of laughter, cut short by more bangs.

A few moments later, Gilbert was literally thrown down the stairs.

"Heh, they didn't seem too happy to see me…"

"Really?" the Canadian said sarcastically. "Just help me with the eggs and bacon."

* * *

><p>After three hours of cooking, re-cooking, and all-out chaos, the food was finally done. It was now 10:30, which meant Alfred would be getting hungry (well, hungrier than he already was), and luckily, they had made enough food to, in Prussia's opinion, "Feed all of the Soviet Union members, plus America. And we all know that that boy's stomach knows no limits."<p>

"So, do you want to call those retards down here or can I do the honors?"

Matthew thought for a bit, before smiling and saying, "No, I'll do it. It makes Al mad when I use my 'hockey voice' and he defiantly deserves it."

With this, Matthew walked in the opposite direction from Alfred's room, leaving Gilbert standing there, dumb-founded and confused. _"…Hockey voice?"_

He was given no more time to debate on the subject with himself, because all thoughts were interrupted by a loud, aggravated voice coming from…behind him?

"**ALFRED F. JONES, IF YOUR BUTT ISN'T DOWNSTAIRS, WITH A PLATE OF FOOD IN HAND, YOUR VIDEO GAMES ARE GOING TO MEET A VERY FIERY DEMISE!"**

Gilbert turned around to see Matthew-sweet, silent Matthew-screaming at the top of his lungs with the tone of a professional hockey player's steaming coach when he's giving a defeat speech.

Frankly, it scared him.

In the blink of an eye, both Alfred and Arthur were downstairs, loading a plate with the first things they saw, and eating frantically-all the while begging him not to break out his hockey stick (from Alfred) and asking if he was still sane (from Arthur).

Matthew then looked at Gilbert with an eyebrow raised, as if to say, 'you got a problem?' and a small smirk unaccustomed to his usually soft and sweet features.

Gilbert flinched.

"Umm…I'll just…go get a plate now…"

* * *

><p>After the two had made their plates, they settled down and began eating. Suddenly a thought struck Matthew.<p>

Whispering, so as to not alarm his brother, Matthew said, "So what exactly happened earlier when you snuck into my brother's room?"

From the mischievous grin on Gilbert's face, he was starting to doubt he even wanted to know.

"You know, you really don't have to whisper. Mr. Me-Monster over there is too busy gloating to notice." The albino gestured in Al's direction with a fork. "And what happened was that I decided that if I was going to grace those two dweebs with my awesome presence, I should make myself an awesome entrance. So, I sneaked in really quietly then totally scared the living crap out of 'em by jumping on Igglet's back. Then Art fell down and hit the back of Al-tard's chair and that made him spill coffee all over himself. Then I laughed at him and asked him if he peed his pants cause of my awesome entrance. And then they threw some stuff at me and kicked me out."

Matthew had to think that one through a bit but when he understood he quickly looked over at his brother to find that he did indeed have a large stain on the front of his trousers.

"Great, more stains for me to wash out."

Gilbert nodded in agreement while stuffing mouthful after mouthful of pancakes into his jaw before he stopped suddenly, noticing something weird.

"Hey what did you put in these things? They taste kinda different…better actually…Man, where did you learn to cook these marvelous things?"

It was silent for a while, which, under normal circumstances (well, as normal as you can get with a best friend like Gilbert and a brother like Alfred), wouldn't have alerted Gilbert at all. But when Gilbert turned to look at Matthew, he immediately read that these weren't normal circumstances.

Matthew seemed to be in a mood.

He was halfway to putting a chopped up pancake bit in his eagerly awaiting mouth, but stopped. His jaw snapped shut and he seemed to go bleach white, then cherry red. He ducked to hide his face and grabbed his plate, throwing the rest of his food in the trash.

"I'm done eating."

Prussia immediately sat up at the boy's odd behavior. Reluctantly, he threw his food away as well, following Matthew to his room.

"Hey, Matt? Mattie~? Mind telling me what that little display was about, hmm?"

Matthew was lying in his bed, face in his pillow and butt sticking in the air. Gilbert struggled to refrain from snickering. After all, he looked quite comical like that, very childish.

Matthew mumbled something into his pillow.

"Sorry, I'm afraid I didn't hear that. Could you repeat that?"

Matthew raised his head a little. "You don't want to know."

Gilbert was slightly surprised by this. They had never kept secrets from each other. Or, at least, he had thought they didn't.

"Can you repeat that? Again? Maybe a little bit louder?"

Canada, apparently on the end of his leash, sat up and swished himself around to face Gilbert.

"You really _really_ don't want to know. Now do me a favor and turn around or get out. I stained my shirt and pants because of your destructive cooking, so I need to change and get these cleaned."

Prussia, who had been leaning against the door, pushed himself off and sat himself on the bed. Matthew quickly got up and headed into the bathroom to change.

"No peeking, Gil." Matthew chided from the bathroom. Prussia snorted.

"Alright, fine." He fell back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Gilbert laid back on the bed, hands behind his head, looking around at the Canadian's room. It was maroon in color and covered with pictures of the boy, his family, and his few friends (when they actually remembered him). There were posters of famous hockey players and he had an entire cabinet dedicated to his hockey trophies, winning hockey pucks, and sticks. He had a bulletin board, full of calendars with due dates and assignments filling almost every square. On his desk rested a laptop with the Canadian flag depicted on it, though it was currently drowning papers, waiting to be signed and approved and filled out. Prussia cringed at the stacks, having not had to deal with said 'torture' in so long. Other than the occasional 'help' he lended to his younger brother, he didn't really have much to do with the forms and flyers of countries, and detested them quite vehemently. Hearing a bang in the bathroom, as well as a small 'ow' brought him back to the present.

"Anyway, stop veering from the question! I want to know what is so secret about your cooking methods that even I can't know. Please?"

Matthew reappeared again, this time with a handful of clothes. As he headed out the door and descended the stairs, he turned slightly to Prussia.

"Just leave it alone, Prussia."

Gilbert sat up and followed him, a worried look on his face. Matthew never called him Prussia. Unless…

* * *

><p>Downstairs, in the kitchen, America was in the process of telling Arthur what he wanted for Valentines Day (to which Arthur sputtered that he wouldn't be getting anything), when an angry Canadian stomped down the stairs. Soon after came Prussia, who looked both worried and apprehensive.<p>

Prussia grabbed Matthews arm, turning the small boy to face him. "It's him, isn't it? He taught you."

Alfred and Arthur were confused by this, but Matthew seemed to know exactly what he meant. His anger evaporated, though now he looked sad, almost on the verge of tears. He nodded, and kept his head down, eyes averted from a now furious Prussian.

"When?"

"It was back before that, Gilbert. Back before-"

"Before he imprisoned me and tortured me and my people? They are all gone because of him, and you…your friends with him? Unbelievable, Mattie. Unbelievable."

Matthew suddenly looked very angry again. Alfred turned to Arthur and said, "I know that face. That's the face that he uses when you are exactly three wrong words away from a hockey stick in the nuts."

"That was a long time ago, Gilbert. Why can't you forgive him? I have."

Gilbert's face was now red. "Matthew, I can never forgive Russia! He-"

Alfred stood up and opened his mouth to object to Russia having anything to do with his twin brother. Fortunately, England saw him and quickly pulled him back down, covering his mouth. England shushed him and let America go when he nodded.

Prussia went silent and turned heel. He headed out the front door, Canada following behind him.

Arthur and Alfred looked at each other then at the door.

"Should we…?"

Alfred shook his head from side to side. "Nah, it's not worth it. For one, Mattie may be so nice normally, but when he's mad, it's really kind of scary….Secondly, every couple has to have their first fight."

England and America looked at each other for a second before bursting out laughing. They put up their dishes and headed back upstairs to Alfred's room for another round of Rock Band.

* * *

><p>(AN): You know, i really was gonna try to finish this. But, when i left my computer and came back, about half of my free-time's worth of writing had simply disappeared. After a bit of trying to see if maybe i managed to salvage some of it SOMEWHERE- i figured out that yours truly is incredibly stupid when it comes to saving and sending things to herself. But never fear, dear readers! If this gets enough reviews {and i say reviews because when people look at a story, they don't see how many faves it got, only reviews. And so far, i have a maximum of 2 reviews on all like, five of my stories. Which kind of sucks :C}, i will continue it. Though really, its not that good. Also, you guys should really check out the band that does the song referenced to in the beginning. Porcelain and the Tramps IS the win (FTW [for the win] really only says that whatever you are referencing to is eligible for the win, not truly BEING the win. Therefore, if i decide to grace something in the WIN category, i go all out :P)!

Getting reviews is reminiscent of having angels bless my stories (...okay, maybe not THAT much, but its still pretty epic).

I wish you all fun, food, and plenty of adventures :D

Sardonically, Pans


	2. Chapter 2

" _I stormed off, an upset and worried Matthew following me._

_"He's changed, Gilbert! He's a better person! Why can't you forgive him? I have…"_

_I swiveled around, glaring at the smaller male._

_"Then you're a fool!" I thundered. "That man is and always will be a monster! How can someone completely destroy an entire nation, and then go on be nothing but tulips and daisies? THEY CAN'T!"_

_Matthew took a step back at this sudden onslaught of accusations against his "friend". He whimpered, maybe feeling that these insults were more aimed at him than they were at Russia. A tear rolled down his face, followed soon by an army of others. He tried to hide the fact, by wiping them away, but I noticed, sighing and bringing my arms around him in a hug. I smiled down at him, feeling my gaze soften at those tear and worry filled eyes looking up at me. I wiped away those tears, maybe hoping that if I did, it would erase that look of suppressed anger aimed at me._

_"Look, I'm sorry that you were so fooled by him. I'm sorry, but you can't trust him. He's nothing but a psychotic puppet master, and if you leave yourself unguarded, he will make you his puppet, like he did me. He's just not worth it."_

_I wasn't really surprised to feel the body in my arms stiffen at this, but I was surprised to feel a light push at my chest. The push became a shove and before I knew it, Matthew's small fists were beating against my chest with such ferocity one would think he was stabbing me. I let him go, being rewarded for this by a harsh slap in the face. I held my bruised cheek looking down with surprised eyes at the small Canadian._

_He picked up his dropped laundry basket, carrying it to the storage shed/wash room, brushing past me. In a whispered breath, he said, "I could say the same about you."_

_I stood there, amazed at the cruelty and anger packed into those measly minutes I'd just lived through. For some reason, they seemed to be more gut clenching and soul wrenching than any war I'd ever been through._

_When Canada came out of the washroom, he walked to the door, turning back to me to say, "Don't come back until you can admit what a hypocrite you are."_ "

* * *

><p>Prussia sat silent now, looking at his brother and friends pleadingly. "So, what should I do?"<p>

Spain jumped across the table, hugging Gilbert and squealing about how "mi amigo está enamorado~". Romano stabbed his boyfriend with a fork, face red from screaming about the ruined table and ("MORE IMPORTANTLY" he said) the ruined pasta, which was now all over Germany's floor and walls. And his face. Feliciano looked confused, asking more than once, "Who is Matthew? Where is Canada?". Prussia was desperately trying to pry Spain off him and lock himself back into his room.

Germany, on the other hand, was asking himself when and how he had ever thought it was a good idea to "help his brother out" by inviting Spain over. He was starting to think he should have been more persistent with France, as anything was better than the "help" Spain and Romano were supplying now. Although, he had to admit that they _had_ gotten Gilbert out of his room.

But maybe letting Spain use his battle axe on the door hadn't been the smartest idea anyway. Germany mentally snickered as he remembered how deathly pale both Italies had gotten at seeing the weapon {A/N: Remember, children, Ludwig IS the youngest between the two Germans}.

Now he turned to the mess of an intervention and, like always, began to clean up someone else's mess.

He got up, dragged both Italies to the kitchen, and told them to make more pasta. He then grabbed a few wash clothes and began to clean the table. When that was done, he turned to Spain, who was still cuddling Prussia, who looked like he was going to start crying if he didn't do something soon. So, he did the only thing he could think of.

He punched Spain in the face.

Several things took place after that. Spain held his (most likely broken) nose and began to tear up, Italy came out of the kitchen and scolded Ludwig for being to harsh, and Lovino and Gilbert began laughing like crazy. Ludwig smiled, seeing that he had accomplished his goal.

An hour later, Feliciano and Lovino came out with five plates of pasta and an ice pack for Antonio. While they were eating, everyone supplied their opinions on what he should do.

"Che palle, its obvious what you should do! Honestly, I can't believe it took you a whole week to get that-" Lovino began to lecture, but was interrupted by Antonio.

"Don't worry, mi amigo, Uncle Tonio was once in love as well~ I know what you're going through, so I can give you the best advice~! First, you need to pick a song for them, and an instrument to play with it. Then-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Toni. First, I will NEVER call you Uncle Tonio. That makes you sound like Francis on SO many levels. Second, I'm not in love, and I think you need more advice on that than I do. Third, I think I know where you're going with that, and I can't help but tell you, even if I _was_ in love, I would never do that. Ever." Prussia said in a deadpan tone, although there was a slight blush on his cheeks. "Feli, do you have any ideas?"

Northern Italy looked up from his rather large pasta plate, slurping up the last of the noodles. He had sauce all over his face and was smiling that innocently blissful smile that told you he had no idea what was going on. "About what, Gilly?"

Gilbert snickered. "N-nothing, Ita-chan, just that you've got something on your face."

"Really?" A pink tongue comes out to lick off the sauce, eyes lighting up in delight when he finds it to be sauce.

Romano and Prussia crack up, and when Italy sent them a questioning glance, Lovino piped up with a, "Idiot, he didn't say it was food!"

Prussia snickered again before turning to his brother, an expectant look placed on his face. Ludwig coughed awkwardly.

"Right. Well, I've thought about it, and I think you should-"

* * *

><p>Alfred F. Jones ("The 'F' stands for 'Fantastic', doesn't it Iggy?" To which Arthur responded with a slap to the head and some less than polite 'F' words) had noticed something in the time he spent at his younger brothers house (they were having their annual World Meeting in Canada, and that meant Alfred 'forgets' to get a room, so he breaks down Matthews door at some ungodly hour of the night and demands a room, pancakes, and hey what's that hockey stick for?). Not only had he not seen Matthew at any of the meetings (not that it mattered, no one noticed and Germany always ended up in charge at ANY meeting anyway), but he had also not seen him in his own house. It took him a whole of three days to realize that Matthew had locked himself inside his room and was not eating.<p>

And judging by the small sounds of wincing and sobbing coming from his room, he was probably cutting again too.

By the fourth day of him asking (read:begging) Matthew to discontinue his recluse episode and come out and enjoy life and eat some thing, darn it!, he had finally cracked and did the unthinkable.

He had called up England and France for an intervention.

And so, about eight hectic hours later, Alfred was right back where he began-screaming at his brother's door. Only this time, he had the pleasure of seeing his former father figure being harassed by Francis while yelling obscene words that would make even the worst of mothers cover their children's ears. And their own for that matter. Oh, by the way, if you couldn't see the sarcasm in the aforementioned statement, you, my friend, are retarded. Have fun in Special ED!

"Mattie, I'm sorry for whatever I did! I promise I'll make it up to you somehow! Just...come out and _eat something_ already!" he shouted, thinking through the past few days for something that he had done. Oddly enough, he couldn't think of anything.

Before he could (loudly) inquire as to what he had done (or if it was his fault at all), his brother, for the first time in a week, opened his door a little to smile sadly at Alfred. "It's not your fault, Alfred. It's not anyone's fault but my own."

Matthew's words (as per usual) had went in one ear and out the other for the three countries in front of his door, but this time for a completely different reason.

Alfred, Francis, and Arthur all stared at Matthew, who looked confused and embarrassed by all the attention now focused on him. Matthew's cheeks and nose were red and he kept sniffling- obvious signs he had been crying, probably for days. His left hand was black ("Where I gripped my pen too hard and broke it", he said, but Alfred had a sinking feeling that it was far more serious than that), his cheeks were slightly sunken in, and their were hard, dark circles under his eyes, giving away the fact that he hadn't been sleeping either.

But that wasn't the worst.

He had apparently been in the middle of cutting (or had just finished), because he still had the dripping blade in his hands and his shirt and pants were gone, leaving him standing in front the three in bloodstained boxers. Because of this lack of cover up, the three could very clearly see exactly how far Matthew's version of "comfort" went. His ribs were visible and he was deathly pale, proof to the claim that the smaller boy hadn't exited his room in a week, not even for food. His arms, legs, and chest were covered in cuts and gashes, some still dripping of blood, others scabbed over. Behind him, Alfred could see the window to Matthew's room open and suddenly the sounds he'd heard outside at night sometimes made sense. Matthew had gone outside to put ice and snow on his weeping wounds. But, according to the boys left hand, he had stayed out a bit too long.

Matthew, curious to why his (ex) brothers were staring at him, looked down at himself. He looked back up with surprise and apology shining in his eyes. "Ah, s-sorry...I really should have put some clothes on, eh?" he said, completely missing the point.

America, without thinking, engulfed Canada in a hug, tears leaking out of his own eyes now. When he heard a small whimper, he immediately went to let go and back off, aware of the wounds covering the small Canadian. Needless to say, he was surprised to find himself being pulled back and lithe, frail arms going under his arms and wrapping around his back, his earlier hug being reciprocated. Alfred wrapped his arms around his brother's shoulders, careful not to touch any wounds, healing or not. He used one hand to pet his brother's soft-as-silk hair as he felt tears wet his bomber jacket.

"Oh Mattie...what happened? Who..."

Canada pulled back to look at America with his lavender eyes over-filled with tears. "Who made me do this? Don't worry, Al, it wasn't you."

France and England, eyes wide with fear and concern over their former charge, asked simultaneously, "Was it me?"

Matthew laughed lightly, though it sounded sickening compared to his normal laugh. "No, Papa and Arthur are not my reason." Suddenly his eyes went dark with depression and sorrow. "I am."

Alfred hugged him tighter, never wanting to let go for fear that his fragile doll of a brother would tear himself apart if no one held him together.

"Why, mon poupée*?"

"What did you do, dear?"

Matthew was surprised at how everyone was acting toward him now. He had been called many things by Francis, but "doll" was not one of them. Especially not with that look of absolute fear and sadness. For him. And it had been so long since England had looked at him like he _cared_... And there was Alfred, who was hugging him like he thought that if he let go, Matthew would simply cease to exist. Who knows? That may be true.

"I told someone I love to leave. And now I'm afraid they'll never come back."

Before anyone could ask anymore questions, Matthew burst into tears again. Alfred shushed him and assured him, patting his head and his back (at least, what wasn't scarred) as his did so. When Matthew seemed to calm down a bit, Alfred picked him up bridal style and carried the broken nation down the stairs and to the kitchen. Matthew was sat in an armchair in the living room and given a blanket from the hall closet Francis had snatched. Alfred disappeared briefly before coming back with gauze, bandaids, and butterfly bandages.

"Mattie, why don't you tell me what happened while I clean up your cuts, okay?" Alfred asked when he came back

"I'll make some tea." Arthur exited into the kitchen and Francis was sent to get towels and a bucket of water.

America analyzed and treated his wounds, putting butterfly bandages where they were needed and wrapping gauze around his chest, arms and shoulders until he looked like a mummy. As he did, Canada, in a quite yet chilling voice, told him about what had happened. By the time he finished, almost all his wounds had been treated, he had had three cups of tea, and it was dark outside.

America looked up at him with a smile.

"He'll come back, I promise. Just don't be surprised if he comes back with puncture wounds and burn marks."

Canada giggled lightly (though it sounded shallow and fake compared to his normal laugh), but hissed when this caused one of his larger, yet-to-be-treated wounds on his shoulder to move and open.

America warned him not to move as he examined his shoulder. America sat back and cursed.

"W-what is it, Al?"

"That one needs stitches."

It was silent until England came out of the kitchen with another cup of tea and asked what he wanted them to do.

"I-I don't wanna go to the hospital. I j-just…don't wanna leave here."

He didn't have to say why. They all knew.

"Do you want me to *yawn* stitch you up, then?"

America was obviously tired and grumpy, yet he still insisted on fixing his brother. This alone made him the best brother ever in Canada's eyes. He smiled and shook his head side to side.

"No, thank you. I've worked you too hard already, what with the butterfly's and gauze and the frostbite on my hand…"

"Nonsense, lil bro! It would be unheroly not to help someone in trouble~!"

Matthew and Alfred laughed, but then America's face got serious. "But, if I'm not gonna do it, who is?"

"I will."

The brothers, possibly twins, looked over at England who had stood. Alfred raised an eyebrow skeptically, but got out of the chair he had set in front of Canada as he worked so Arthur could get started.

"Frog, I need you to get me a pair of hemostats, scissors, tweezers, antibiotics, and suture. If he has any anesthetic, we need it." France nodded and he turned to Canada. "Matthew, do you have any of these things?"

Matthew nodded, obviously nervous about getting stitches. After all, it had been a while since he had gotten any. "I-in the b-bathroom, in a box. You'll k-know it when you s-s-see it."

France thanked him before disappearing down the hall. He came back moments later with a medium sized box which he tossed to England, who caught it expertly and began to get to work.

"Matthew, when I'm done I want you to go upstairs and take a shower."

Matthew pouted. He had just gotten used to the gauze; he didn't wanna take it off. "But-"

"Don't 'but' me, child!"

Matthew pouted again, but nodded reluctantly. A while later, England finished the last stitch and began to clean up. "There. Now I'm done. You can go take a shower now."

When Matthew, who had been staring into space, thinking about _him, _didn't get up and go upstairs to take a shower, Arthur flicked him in the forehead.

"Oww! Arthur, that hurt!" Arthur smiled slightly at seeing the pout Matthew put on as he held his "injured" forehead. It reminded him so much of his colony days.

"I _said_ you can go upstairs now."

Matthew looked confused. Arthur sighed.

"For a shower, git. By the time you come back down, we should be done making you diner."

Matthew's eyes softened and he sent the three nations an angelic smile. "Really?"

Francis smiled at his former charge. "Bien sûr, mon ange*."

Matthew blushed, but stood up with shaky legs. Alfred, afraid his poor, self-injured brother would fall, helped him upstairs. Arthur waited until they were out of ear shot to collapse in his chair.

"I hate him. Prussia. I hate, hate, _hate_ him."

Francis nodded sympathetically, chuckling. "Don't we all, mon cher. But this situation is difficult."

England huffed, sitting up and glaring at the Frenchman. "Oh yeah? How so?"

"Because, cher, no matter how much we all hate, hate, _hate_ him," he said this with a smirk, mimicking his younger counterpart, who threw his shoe at him, cheering when he hit Francis directly in the forehead. "Matthieu loves him and if we hurt him, it will hurt Matthieu that much more."

England huffed, but nodded in agreement. "What do you suggest we do, then, frog?"

France smiled sadly. "Hope. Hope and pray that Gilbert will come to his senses soon. Matthieu isn't the only one in love, Angleterre."

England grumbled, "I hope so, for his sake."

Francis laughed, confusing Alfred when he came back downstairs.

"What's so funny, frenchie? Arthur spill his tea?"

France shook his head no, beckoning him towards him with a wave of his hand. Alfred looked wary of this, sending Arthur a "is it safe?" glace, to which he got a nod. He nervously walked over to France, bending down so he could whisper in his ear. He leaned away a minute later, glaring at nothing.

"That self absorbed jerk better man up and get his tail over here or I'll drag him to hell personally."

His two seniors laughed at him, standing and stretching.

"What now, frog?"

"Now we make diner. Dieu sait qu'il a besoin Matthieu*."

Arthur and Alfred nod and walk into the kitchen to began.

* * *

><p>Prussia was, for the first time in a long time, nervous. And, honestly, that wasn't fair. There was a reason he wasn't nervous often, but the God of Forgiveness (or George, or whatever his name was) apparently didn't give a crap. That jerk.<p>

So, because George the Forgiveness Jerk didn't seem to believe him when he said that nervous Prussia was a bad idea, he was forced to prove it. When Prussia got nervous, he forgot things. And that meant that on the way there, he got lost twice and then forgot what Matthew's house looked like. When he finally remembered and found the house, he realized he had left his computer back at home, although he had the bag. He was halfway to the airport before he realized that he was carrying two bags; one for his computer and one for Gilbird. And his computer was in Gilbird's bag. After all, it wasn't safe to let the little guy ride on his head when he was on his motorcycle (read: he "borrowed" it from his brother).

When he finally got to the house, he felt his stomach do that odd fluttering thing that made him want to look for his computer again. Or his bike. You know, just in case he lost it.

Prussia stood at the doorstep and straightened out his clothes for the thirteenth time that night, and raised his hand to knock. But, he was stopped when he heard laughing and yelling. _Huh. Does Mattie not want me here? Does he even care?_

He adjusted his coat (_again_) and knocked, but was surprised to see the door automatically opened, not by an enthusiastic (or frowning, if he knew who it was at the door) Canadian, but by a grumpy American. With a flamethrower.

Said American quickly raised the flamethrower to his forehead. "Get. Out."

Luckily, before Gilbert could say something stupid to get burned (literally), England popped up behind Alfred, grumbling about drama queen American's and their stupid trigger fingers.

His face lit up the moment he saw Gilbert, though it was followed closely by a devious smirk and that scheming glint in his eye. All signs pointed to an eventful evening for everyone at the Williams residence.

"No, no, let him in."

Alfred wiped around to send Arthur a bewildered and confused look, which Arthur mimicked him, although he made it look about fifty times stupider for Alfred's annoyment and Prussia's amusement.

"Yeah, you heard me, you git. Get your fat bum out of the doorway and for God's sake, put that stupid flamethrower _away_! I have no idea why you _insist_ to cook with that thing!"

"Because it'll get the job done faster than a grill! Kiku told me so!" Alfred moved out of the way, but not without sending an intentionally nasty glare Gilbert's way.

"Mhmm, I'm sure, I'm sure."

Honestly, when he came inside, he felt like he was back home. The smell, the look, and noises…it was all just so Matthew. Well, except for the noisy American's laughing and that faint hint of burning British food that littered the air. And of course, the Frenchman turning the corner.

"Who was at the do- Ah, mon idiote Gilly, avez-vous finalement venir à votre sens*?"

Prussia nodded, blushing while the other two occupants of the room began wondering what exactly the Frenchman had said. Said man was currently in an apron (as was Alfred, but Arthur had had his apron revoked, aka stolen) and carrying a pan full of batter, ready for the oven.

"So, do you know where Birdie is?"

"Quoi? Birdie? Who's that, cher?"

Prussia sighed. "Mattie, dude. Do you know where the kid is?"

"Oui, he's upstairs taking a shower. He should be down shortly, so you can just wait in there."

Prussia followed France's vague wave of a hand to the living room, in which he sat down on the couch (or chesterfield, as Matthew liked to call it) and was surprised to feel something under him. He sat up and picked it up, only to see it was a bloody washrag. Immediately his thoughts traveled to the boy upstairs, but before he could inquire about it, it was taken out of his hands and thrown across the room by one eager looking American who sat next to him, followed closely by Arthur sitting on his opposite side.

"Sooo, Prussia, what's up?"

"Not much, Al-tard, just having my personal space invaded by my friend's retarded brother and ex-brother. You?"

And suddenly, he was right back where he started; with Alfred's flamethrower pointed to his forehead and Alfred snarling curse words at him faster than he could count them. Huh, déjà vu. Except now England was cheering him on.

"Blast his bloody brains out, wanker, I haven't got all day!"

"Hold your freakin' horses, Iggs! He's gotta know why we're 'blasting his bloody brains out', right?"

England grumbled, but was interrupted by Francis.

"Mon dieu, what are you doing, cher? Alfred, get off Gilbert and put that…_thing _away!"

Alfred snickered something that sounded suspiciously like, "that's what she said" before leaning away to turn on the flamethrower. "Not a chance, blondie~"

"Alfred! What are you doing?"

All occupants of the room turned to look at a flushed Canadian, standing in the middle of the room, without a shirt, in night pants, and with bloody gauze in one hand. He looked bewildered and was glaring at Alfred and Arthur expectantly.

"Well?"

Alfred turned off the flamethrower and got off Prussia, then turned to Matthew, guiltily hanging his head with hands behind his back, like Arthur.

"W-we were just trying to protect you, Mattie…"

"From what, having friends? A life?"

Alfred opened his mouth to protest, but thought ill of it, preferring to instead come towards Matthew and grab the gauze.

"Here, I'll help you put it back on.

"Actually, I- Wait…is that…Gilbert?"

Gilbert sat on the couch (chesterfield) with his mouth hanging open and his face completely pale. "M-Matt…what…what _happened_? Who did this to you?"

Gilbert looked like he was ready to nuke whoever had dared to touch _his_ Mattie and frankly, it was both reassuring and scary.

"G-Gilbert, c-c-calm down! I d-did this."

Gilbert's angry glare at nothing in particular faded to a look of hurt, concern, and confusion.

"B-but…why?"

Before Matthew could make an excuse or run away, Alfred stomped right up to Gilbert.

"When you left, Mattie felt so bad that he locked himself in his room and didn't come out for a week! He didn't eat, he didn't sleep, and he cut himself because he was afraid you wouldn't come back! But your slow hide decided to take a whole week to show up!"

Gilbert backed up and looked completely heart broken. Alfred almost thought he would start crying.

"Birdie…I'm so sorry."

Matthew smiled forgivingly at him. "It's alright, Gil. I'm just glad you came back."

Gilbert smiled, then seemed to realize something. "Not only did I come back, but I met my end of your deal."

Canada tilted his head to the side in confused. "Deal?"

Prussia laughed. "You said that I couldn't come back until I admitted what a hypocrite I was. Well, the awesome me went beyond that!"

Canada looked amused. "Oh, and how so?"

Prussia looked down at Matthews's wounds. "Well, it's not really something I can tell you. It's more something I have to show you. But right now I want you to put some gauze and a shirt on, okay?"

Matthew blushed, embarrassed to be caught with out a shirt on and quickly grabbed Alfred's hand and dragged him upstairs so he could get dressed.

* * *

><p>Thirty minutes later, the Northern American brothers came down, this time with a fully dressed Canadian in a hoodie.<p>

"Alfred, these bandages _really_ itch…"

Alfred slapped his brother's hand away from his bandages, as he was itching again. "Well, I can't help that. You'll just have to deal with it for a few days until they heal up, okay? No itching."

"But Aaallll~!"

"Don't 'but Al' me, mister. I will turn this car around!"

"But we're not in a car!"

"Stop whining!"

Gilbert and Francis laughed at the childish banter between the two, while England joined in, telling them both to grow up, while Alfred called him a hypocrite and Matthew quietly griped about his bandages.

"Um, guys? Matt? Birdie? Sorry about the bandages, but I think you'll really want to see this."

Matthew immediately turned to Prussia, who sat on the couch, quietly talking to someone on his computer with Francis leaning over his shoulder to watch. He rushed forward, wondering what "going beyond that" meant. And was surprised to see Russia's (creepily) smiling face on the screen.

"Oh, hello Matvey! How are you? I haven't seen you at any of the meetings recently; are you sick?"

At the barrage of questions from Ivan, Matthew sweat dropped, not knowing what to say. "Um, haha, well that's a funny story actually because-"

"Me and Birdie got in a fight cause your friends and he told me not to come back until I could admit what a hypocrite I was and then we both locked ourselves in our rooms. But while I passed time by working out and drinking, he cut himself and didn't sleep or eat for a whole week."

Even through the computer, Prussia and Canada could feel the atmosphere around Ivan drop to subzero temperatures and his smile became positively predatory. They shivered.

"Are my relations with Canada a problem for you, Gilbert?"

Gilbert tried not to be intimidated, shrugging. "They used to be. But I Skyped you because I wanted…to…" Gilbert mumbled something, blushing. Ivan smirked, the subzero atmosphere slowly receding. "I'm sorry, but I could not hear your mumblings. You will repeat it, da?"

Gilbert mumbled, although this time it was a little louder and Matthew heard it, turning around to stare at Prussia in amazement. Russia frowned. "Again, please? You really need to speak up. Ha, you remind me of little Latvia with your mumbling and quiveri-"

Prussia glared and clenched his teeth together to avoid calling Ivan some choice words. "I _said_ that I wanted to apologize for my behavior towards you these past few years and…I would kind of like to be friends…with you. Say yes."

Russia laughed heartily. "Ha, that is not the correct way to ask someone something, is it Gilbert?"

Gilbert couldn't take it. He finally exploded. "**_SHUT UP, YOU COMMIE JERK!_** You should just be happy the awesome me even wants to _know_ you!"

He immediately regretted it when he saw Canada face palm, but Russia laughed it off. "Prussia, you know better than anyone that I haven't been communist for a long time. Alright, alright, I will stop teasing. Yes, Mr. Beilschmidt, I will be friends with you." He looked at Matthew now. "For Matvey."

Gilbert breathed a sigh of relief while Canada looked confused. "Same here, Braginski, same here."

Ivan chuckled and turned to Matthew. "I have to go now, da? Big sister is coming down today so I must prepare. Bye bye~!"

Canada smiled and waved as the screen went back to Gilbert's background. They sat there for a moment before realizing that Alfred, Arthur, and Francis had went upstairs to America's room and the sound of Rock Band 3 (A/N: yes, Rock Band 3 has a sound. It sounds kind of like bad singing, off key drums, and arguing over song choices) could be heard from the couch (chesterfield). Canada and Prussia laughed, hearing Alfred be booted out of his own room, then Francis, though Canada jumped when Alfred kicked the door down.

"So, what do ya wanna do?"

"Well, I've really been wondering about something…"

Gilbert laid back and put his hands behind his head while Canada blushed and poked his fingers together nervously. "Shoot."

"Um…R-remember when you t-told me you had some new r-ringt-t-tones for me? A-and you?"

Gilbert suddenly went red and was quiet. "Yeah."

"W-well, I was w-wondering what they were…"

Gilbert sat up and pulled out his phone, shoving it into his friend's hand. Before heading into the kitchen to raid his candy drawer (A/N: Haha, my Gramma has a candy drawer). "Mine is first one the list of new recorded songs, and yours is second."

Matthew nodded and began Gilbert's song.

_I'm awesome_

_No you're not, dude, don't lie!_

_I'm awesome!_

_I'm drivin' 'round in my mom's ride!_

_I'm awesome!_

_Quarter of my life gone by and I met all my friends on line_

_I'm awesome!_

_I will run away from a brawl!_

_I'm awesome!_

_There's no voicemail, nobody called!_

_I can't afford to by eight-balls and I talk to myself on my facebook wall!_

Matthew came into the kitchen with Gilbert, almost in tears he was laughing so hard. Gilbert smiled and laughed along with him.

"Oh my gosh, where did you get this, Gilly?"

"Eliz gave it to me. Said it reminded her of me."

Matthew smiled. "You guys are talking now?"

Gilbert nodded, then climbed onto a chair and put one foot on Matthew's table. "It's not fair to hide all this awesomeness, even from someone like her. Everyone should be able to bask in the awesome!"

Matthew rolled his eyes, then kicked the leg of the chair, causing Gilbert and the chair to go down like the titanic. "Yeah, you're so awesome- Now get the hell off my table."

Prussia stood up, putting Canada in a headlock and giving him a noogie until Matthew kicked him in the 'vital regions'. "You're so mean to me Birdie~"

"Then you're a masochist for coming back." Matthew stuck his tongue out at Gilbert before pressing the play button on his song.

_We should get jerseys 'cause we make a good team.  
>But yours would look better than mine 'cause you're out of my league.<br>And I know that it's so cliché to tell you that everyday  
>I spend with you is the new best day of my life.<br>And everyone watching us just turns away with disgust.  
>This jealously, they can see that we've got it going on!<br>I'm racking my brain for a new improved way  
>To let you know, you're more to me than what I know how to say<br>You're okay with the way this is going to be  
>'Cause this is going to be the best thing we've ever seen<br>If anyone could make me a better person, you could  
>All I gotta say is I must have done something good<br>You came along one day and you rearranged my life  
>All I gotta say is I must have done something right<em>

By the end of the song, Matthew and Prussia were bright red. Matthew had his head ducked and Prussia scratched the back of his head, thinking he had really just messed up.

"Eh, well, that was from me to you, so…You know, I can change it if you don't-"

Suddenly, Canada turned around and gave Gilbert a hug, face pressed into his shirt.

"Thank you."

Gilbert laughed and hugged Matthew back, ruffling his hair.

"For what?"

"For loving me back."

Then Matthew did something completely un-Matthewian. He leaned up and kissed Prussia. When he pulled back, Prussia's eyes were wide and his cheeks were pink. Honestly, it was kind of cute.

Matthew laughed and reached up to ruffle Gilbert's hair, causing Gilbert to huff and pinch his cheek. Then Canada poked him in the eye and Gilbert pulled his hair. _That_ hair. Needless to say, it didn't end well. Things escalated until Canada jumped on Prussia's back and twisted his arm behind his back until Gilbert was forced to call "Uncle! Uncle!". Canada laughed and let got, then moved to climb off his back, but was stopped when Prussia grabbed his legs.

"Giiillll~!"

"Hey, you're the one who climbed up there, now you gotta stay on!"

Matthew pouted for a minute, before perking up and kicking Prussia's thighs with his feet.

"Fine then, noble stead. Lets go kick my brothers butt in Rock Band!"

Prussia laughed, then started to run up the stairs. "I second that motion!"

* * *

><p>(AN): *breaks down crying* I AM SO SORRY! This is so late, I'm sure no one's even gonna remember it! Anyway, I got so many reviews for this story, I decided to update it. BTW, little black feather, I apologize for being a liar. I totally told you I would update this last Friday, but now its mid-Monday!

Anyway, I love you all! You can tell because I wrote this _soul wrenching_ story for ju~! I'm not kidding. This killed me. It got erased last time, and then it was erased again yesterday, when I almost finished it. Stupid me writing it on the site *grumbles*. Well, the songs in this one are AWETHUM (like Prussia~) so you should totes check 'em out. Its "I'm Awesome" by Spose and "Must Have Done Something Right" by Reliant K.

*Translations:

mon poupée-my doll

Bien sûr, mon ange- Of course, my angel

Dieu sait qu'il a besoin Matthieu- Heaven know Matthew needs it

Ah, mon idiote Gilly, avez-vous finalement venir à votre sens- Ah, my silly Gilly, have you finally come to your senses? (cuz i'm the nickname retard! :P)

You have been accused of reading, which is punishable by FF law of at least one comment, to which I will reply ;P

I wish you all fun, friends, and food~

Sarcastically, Pans.


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